


Drowning

by charis2770



Series: Finding Vengeance...or is it Something Else? [35]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Angst, Asami finds a way to help him out of it, BDSM, D/s, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feilong is in a dark place, Fights, M/M, Martial Arts, Slash, Yaoi, rated Explicit for next chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-17 22:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9349055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charis2770/pseuds/charis2770
Summary: Asami knows that Feilong has been carrying around a certain amount of unresolved anger over what his one-time family tried to do to him and Yoh a few months back, but when Feilong returns from his first trip back to Hong Kong in a very long time, Asami realizes it's a lot more than that, and that Feilong is in a very dark place. Is, in fact, starting to drown in his own anger, guilt, and self-doubt. Being the sort of person he is, Asami's just not having it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write something kind of edgy and violent for Asami and Feilong for a while now, but to be honest, I'm a little tired of having someone they care about put in danger so they can go kick ass. I wasn't sure how I wanted to handle it until this idea came to me last night. As usual, it's getting longer than I anticipated, so I'm splitting it up into two chapters. There's not a lot of intense stuff in this first part, as it's mostly set-up for the main event. At which point, things are going to get a little bloody.
> 
> To find out more about me and my work, PLEASE check me out here:  
> https://charis2770.tumblr.com/

For all that the massive building stands in the very center of all the hustle and bustle of downtown Tokyo, at this height, the night is quiet. The traffic, over 30 stories below, flows around the towering condo’s footprint, a sussurating whisper too far away to dare to intrude on the almost venerated silence of the luxurious, exclusive residences on the top few floors. There are no lights illuminating the balcony, but Asami can see Feilong fine. He’s standing at the far end of the balcony, staring out over the city, his beautiful face virtually devoid of expression as his hair tosses gently in the wind. Asami walks over and stands next to him for several minutes, smoking one of his trademark Dunhills, watching Feilong without seeming to out of the corners of his eyes.

 

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, or is this one of those times I’m going to have to drag it out of you kicking and screaming?” he asks finally, when he’s finished his smoke and Feilong still hasn’t moved or acknowledged his presence. When Feilong turns to look at him, Asami does something he hasn’t done inside his own home in a very, very long time. He stops himself mentally from taking a step back as all his senses come screaming into high gear, the senses that have kept him alive for so long, made him the alpha in a city filled with predators. They are senses he hasn’t needed when it comes to Feilong for quite some time, but for a moment when Feilong turns to look at him, all Asami sees in those dark eyes is rage. Ot is only for a moment, but it’s enough to have his heart beating faster in his chest and adrenaline humming through his veins. Feilong blinks and averts his eyes for a moment. When he looks back, his face is once again a carefully composed mask.

 

Which, of course, Asami is Not. Having.

 

“I’m fine,” says Feilong softly, in even tones. 

 

“If you open your mouth and lie to me one more time, you are going to regret it, I promise you,” purrs Asami, who honestly can’t decide for sure whether he hopes Feilong obeys him or not at this point, because that look had brought back his lust for the game in the space of one heartbeat. Just because he hasn’t had to play it for a while doesn’t mean he’s forgotten how. But Feilong sighs, and his shoulders slump a little.

 

“I don’t wish to talk about it, then,” he says, but he clearly hasn’t taken a very good look at Asami since that first, and abruptly quelled, rage-filled glance, because this is another thing Asami is Not. Having. 

 

Asami stands beside Feilong in silence for a little while, having taken out his phone to send off a quick message. Feilong is standing beside him, wrapped in his misery and practically quivering with the desire to be left alone to wallow in it, but Feilong had better start getting used to not getting what he wants, because as soon as Asami’s message is answered, Feilong’s time is up.

 

“Come with me,” he says coolly, holding out his hand. Feilong looks at him again, and for the first time actually takes note of the expression on his lover’s face. For a split second, something flares in his eyes in answer to it, then he looks away again.

 

“Look, you don’t want me to lie to you, so I won’t. But I’d really prefer to be alone right now, so if you don’t mind….” Feilong’s polite refusal is cut short by Asami’s hand flashing out to fist in his hair. A strangled sound escapes his throat as Asami turns on his heel and calmly drags Feilong in off the balcony.

 

“Oh, but I do mind.” Asami’s voice is calm too, but Feilong never got as far as he did opposing the man once upon a time by being too stupid to read the look he’d seen in those whiskey-colored eyes, and for a moment the cold that has been digging its way into his heart all day, worming in slowly like something bloated and cancerous feeding off infected, suppurating flesh, flashes hot. He resists, pulling against Asami’s hold, but in the end doesn’t have the heart for it.

 

“I can’t do this right now, Asami...I just... _ stop _ !” He takes a breath, because he knows how to put a stop to this without having to have this argument, after all. “Re…”

 

“Don’t you dare,” snarls Asami, whirling on him, quicker than thought, faster than the word Feilong thinks to say, shoving him against the wall, his powerful hand still gripping Feilong’s beautiful hair relentlessly in his fist. “Don’t you _dare_ use a safeword to _chicken_ _out_ on me right now, Feilong. Do you think I don’t know where you’ve been for the past two days?” And he does know, has been worrying about it the entire time Feilong and Yoh have been gone to China, in fact, to help Tao pack his things, and to deliver him to the boarding school he’d chosen for himself (with Feilong’s approval, of course). Baishe may be a thing of the past, but its ghosts and Feilong’s demons had probably been lurking in every corner of the old compound.

 

“I do not have the heart for this right now,” whispers Feilong bleakly. Asami grinds his teeth in frustration and does something he very rarely does. He raises his voice.

 

“You have the heart of a  _ FUCKING DRAGON _ ,” he roars, and slams his mouth down over Feilong’s in a frustrated, brutal, angry kiss. Feilong’s fingers, clutching at his shoulders to hold him at bay, slowly curl into the lapels of his coat and, with a small, defeated sound, he kisses Asami back. Which is still not good enough. Asami straightens a little, forcing Feilong’s head back, forcing his jaw open so his tongue can sweep in even more deeply, cutting of the other man’s air on purpose. Feilong doesn’t even struggle at first. He can, after all, hold his breath for a pretty long time, but the kiss is as uncomfortable as it’s meant to be, and this is a kind of choking Feilong doesn’t like. At all. His fist pounds against Asami’s shoulder, but Asami ignores him, bending him backwards even further, tasting the blood in their mouths. A few seconds later, Feilong’s fist plows into his stomach. He breaks the kiss and steps back, breathing hard, wiping blood off his lips with the back of his hand. Feilong is panting, and glaring at him again, which is better. Asami grins.

 

“Fuck you,” says Feilong bitterly. “That was a dirty trick.”

 

“Mm. Are you going to stop acting like a coward?” It’s yet another push, a calculated one, because there’s little Feilong hates more than being called a coward. And he’s right, because the rage he’d seen before flashes in Feilong’s eyes for an instant and Asami’s blood flares with heat at the sight of it, but Feilong staggers back, pushing away from him, shaking his head so that his breathtaking spill of hair falls like sheeting rain over his face.

 

“I swore it to myself,” he hears Feilong muttering under his breath. “To you, to Akihito, to Yoh.” And there is such bitterness and self-loathing in that voice that Asami knows he can’t back down, because whatever has happened to Feilong, it’s brought him to some critical tipping point and is going to have to be managed in just the right way, or something fragile and wonderful that they’ve built out of the wreckage of the previous seven years could be lost, whether Feilong realizes it right now. Asami draws himself up to his full height and  _ looms _ over Feilong as he follows him, and his voice lashes out as sharp as any whip he’s ever plied upon all of that alabaster skin. 

 

“What’s the matter, Liu Feilong? Did going home to Hong Kong remind you of the man you used to be?”

 

“S-shut up,” hisses Feilong, shaking his head.

 

“Did you walk down those bloodstained halls and remember what it felt like to hold the power of every man inside it’s life in your hands? Did it make you recall the power, and a part of you missed it?”

 

“YES!” screams Feilong, who stops backing away and stands up straight. “Is that what you want to hear?”

 

“And now you feel like a monster again.”

 

“Yes.” A whisper this time, and Feilong’s eyes track to an ornately decorated wooden box sitting on the coffee table that hasn’t been there before. Asami hasn’t seen it in years, but he knows perfectly well what it is. The hand-painted, enameled, antique wooden chest in which Feilong had once kept his private stash. His eyes narrow at the sight of it. “It’s empty  _ now, _ ” says Feilong tiredly. “But it wasn’t when I came upon it the day before yesterday, in my old rooms. Tao was so proud of how he’d kept it safe for me. I never did let him see what it contained, or see me using anything in it, either. All he knew was that I’d told him once upon a time it had been my mother’s. So he’d been guarding it for me. A 13 year old boy. Guarding my drugs. I hadn’t been tempted by what was in there in quite some time. I was that night.” He sighs.

 

“Being tempted isn’t the same thing as giving in. And you didn’t.” Asami is sure of this even as he says it, because he knows the box wouldn’t be sitting here, empty, right now if Feilong had elected to drown his unhappiness in the oblivion of drugs. 

 

“No. But I wanted to. I thought it would be good for me, going back to help Tao pack, making arrangements with a solicitor to put the place on the market. I thought it would give me some closure.”

 

“That will come,” says Asami softly. Feilong glances at him, and they share a look only men such as themselves can share, knowing full well there are some actions that, once chosen, you know you will carry with you for the rest of your life. 

 

“Part of me wanted to burn it. As I walked through that place, I realized that….since I got out of prison and rebuilt my father’s organization, I really do believe I’ve tortured or killed someone in almost every room of that cursed compound. Including Akihito.”

 

“Feilong…”

 

“No!,” snaps Feilong, cutting him off by holding out a hand as though to thrust Asami back away from him, even though they aren’t touching at the moment. “But that wasn’t what I was thinking about the most while I was there. Not until I’d left it behind, not until I’d dropped Tao off and said goodbye until Spring vacation. No, then all I could think about was how  _ good _ most of it had felt. When I finally decided to stop hiding in prison, everything my father had built was in tatters, scattered to the winds without a strong leader. I picked up all of those tatters and wove them back together into something  _ powerful _ . All of those men who’d thought I was nothing more than the old Liu’s pet attack dog with a pretty face....they feared me, and respected me, and they obeyed me. I  _ was _ Baishe. I was  _ good _ at it, a hundred times better than Yan Tszu could have ever been, the fucking prick, and  _ look at me now _ !”

 

“Are you ashamed of who you are now?” asks Asami, cocking his head to the side a little. Feilong throws his hands in the air and whirls, muffling a scream of anger and frustration. 

 

“No! Not of….” He gestures vaguely towards Asami in a mostly circular motion which Asami takes to mean encompasses the nature of their relationship.

 

“You’re ashamed of yourself for missing it, and think that’s what makes you a bad person. You’re ashamed of yourself because you haven’t made a move to rebuild something like what you had in Hong Kong  _ here _ .”

 

“I’m ashamed of myself for wanting to, too,” sighs Feilong.

 

“You really have worked yourself into a state over this. Are you ready to come with me now, or do I need to drag you by your hair again?”

 

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” asks Feilong, and Asami rather intensely dislikes that it doesn’t really sound like he cares one way or the other. 

 

“You’ll just have to trust me,” he says challengingly, holding out his hand. This time, Feilong takes it.

  
  


The building is in one of the older sections of Tokyo, a business district where none of the offices are open at this hour. Asami drives around to the back, then down underneath into a small parking garage. Feilong has kept his eyes facing forward the whole way here, not really looking at anything. When Asami turns off the BMW’s engine and unfastens his seatbelt, he finally looks around. There are few lights in the small, underground parking area, and no other cars.

 

“What is this place?” he asks, but doesn’t sound terribly curious. It sounds more as if he’s asking out of courtesy than interest. Asami tamps down on his own anger and gets out of the car.

 

“Come and see for yourself.”

 

He turns and walks away, not looking back, towards the large, heavy horizontal door of a freight elevator a little ways away from where he’s parked, not looking back to see if he’s followed. Once he reaches it, he takes out a key, inserts it into the elevator’s control box, then turns it and presses the button with his thumb. Feilong appears at his elbow, silent and grim-faced. The outdated overhead lights of the garage throw odd shadows and a strange, grayish-blue light. Under them, Feilong’s eyes and cheeks, the hollow of his throat, all appear somehow sunken in. It looks to Asami, as they wait for the elevator, as if that which is essential, that which makes Feilong  _ Feilong _ , is slowly dissolving away. A small muscle in his jaw jumps. Not. Having it.

 

They step silently onto the elevator when it arrives, and Asami pulls the doors down with a clang, the presses the Down button on the control. It jerks to a stop, and Asami raises the doors on complete darkness, save for the tiny pool of pale yellow thrown out onto a plain concrete floor by the overhead bulb of the freight elevator. 

 

“Stay here just a moment. I know where the light switches are,” he says, laying a hand on Feilong’s arm, then slipping into the darkness and along one wall, his hand feeling along rough concrete block in search of the panel he knows to be there, even though he hasn’t been to this place in years. He wonders if he should have thought to ask if it had been redecorated since then, to save himself the embarrassment of barking his shins on something in the dark, or falling flat on his face, but he finds the panel without incident. Flipping it on, he turns to watch Feilong’s face as he realizes what kind of place Asami has brought him to. 

 

Not long after he’d first moved to Tokyo, Asami had met a Romanian woman about his own age at a party hosted by some mutual friends. Liliana Petrescu had been a professional Domme at the time, though she hasn’t taken on any clients in several years, since opening the Black Rose, a fetish club for the curious and the expert alike. She’d been given this space by one of her clients, a wealthy businessman who owned the building, to turn it into a private play space. He watches Feilong’s eyes taking in the clearly recognizable decor and various familiar apparatuses. Not only does it have just about everything, it has a lot of open floor space too. Feilong’s reaction, however, isn’t precisely what he’d hoped it would be. He takes a step back, deeper into the elevator, wrapping his arms around himself protectively with a tiny negative head shake.

 

“Asami. I...I can’t.” He reaches over blindly, fingers seeking the freight elevator’s controls. Asami strides over and stops him, fingers wrapping around Feilong’s wrist, squeezing tightly until the bones grind together a little. A small, helpless sound escapes Feilong’s closed lips. Asami drags him out of the elevator, slams it closed, turns the key back to a locked position, then pulls it out of the lock and tosses it over his shoulder. 

 

“There.”

 

“It’s not like you threw the key  _ away _ ,” says Feilong tiredly. “All I have to do is find it over there on the floor to get out of here.”

 

“Maybe,” agrees Asami, glaring at him in challenge, “but you’ll have to go through me to get to it, and I’m not going to make it easy on you.” 

 

“What are we doing here?” asks Feilong, sighing heavily. “I don’t understand what you want from me.”

 

“There are a few things I want you to understand. The first one is that there is nothing wrong with liking power, or seeking it out. The man I met for the first time in Hong Kong all those years ago...that young man was beginning to understand that. There was a fire in him, one I was drawn to. I saw such potential. I know it’s still there, and I want you to stop being afraid to tap into it. You allowed yourself to be consumed by bitterness and anger over an incident that was neither my fault, nor yours.”

 

“Don’t you think I know that?” snaps Feilong, and Asami’s mouth quirks up at one corner at the flash of emotion. Better. Not there yet, but better.

 

“The choices you made during that time don’t reflect the man you are, Feilong. But neither do all of the choices you’re making now. You’re afraid. Afraid to let yourself be everything you’re capable of being because you’re so concerned you’ll turn into the old you again. You’re angry at the people you once thought of as your family, but you’re even afraid to let yourself express that anger because of the same fear. I’ve been watching you hold back for months now.”

 

“It certainly sounds like you’ve got me all figured out,” says Feilong stiffly.

 

“That’s not all. I think you’re also afraid of realizing all of your potential because you’re even more afraid of losing what we share, because it’s so important...so  _ necessary _ to you.”

 

“I suppose there’s a point to all of this?”

 

“You have to let go of all the anger you’re carrying around, Feilong, or it will eventually turn you back into someone you hate. I’m going to show you that you can, without losing anything.”

 

“And just how do you propose to do that?”

 

“When you met my eyes tonight, that first time out on the balcony, there was so much rage in you that it actually set off my fight instincts.”

 

“Asami….I’m sorry. I…”

 

“Let me finish. Feilong...I shouldn’t have let you go to Hong Kong alone. I was afraid having Yoh with you wouldn’t be enough, because he was so much a part of your life there. I should have been there, and I’m sorry. I’m not angry at you. It excited me, seeing you like that, and that… surprised me. Don’t get me wrong. I love it that you’ve found it in yourself to submit to me easily. Never think I don’t recognize it for the gift it is. But when I saw that look in your eye, that wasn’t what I wanted from you. Not only that, but I’m almost positive there’s no way in hell I’d even be  _ able _ to thrash the anger out of you at this point. You’ve been carrying it for too long. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to beat this pointless guilt out of you, but not until you’re able to let me. So here’s what’s going to happen. You and I, Feilong….we’re going to fight. You’re not going to hold back, because that would be insulting to both of us.”

 

“You’ve lost your mind,” whispers Feilong, but Asami doesn’t miss the way his tongue touches his bottom lip at the thought of it.

 

“Haven’t you always wondered, at least a little, which one of us is really better?”

 

“No! N-not any _ more _ ...I mean. Well. Maybe….now and then….”

 

“Me too. It doesn’t even matter to me which one of us wins, because it won’t change what’s going to happen after that.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“No. Because win or lose, after that, I’m going to bend you over that spanking bench over there in that corner and whip you until you can’t scream anymore, and then I’m going to fuck you blind and stupid, so you’ll know that you’re  _ allowed _ to be as strong as you want to be, and it’s not going to change a damned thing.”


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asami and Feilong do a pretty good job trying to beat the shit out of each other, to find out which one of them is actually better. Which isn't the real reason at all, because Asami knows Feilong needs to let go of the shit he's keeping inside or he's going to get a lot worse. He also knows that's not going to be enough, because after the rage, comes guilt. But Asami knows how to handle that too. 
> 
> Also there is sex.

With that, Asami calmly shrugs out of his coat and hangs it over the end of a huge set of heavy wooden stocks. It’s followed by the perfectly-fitted vest that shows off his trim waist and hips to perfection, then he’s loosening his tie with one finger and the look he’s sending Feilong is scorching hot.

 

Feilong’s uppermost, and most reasonable, inner voice begins clamoring immediately that this is a terrible idea, that not only does he not want to fight Asami, he’s certainly in no good headspace to do so. The trouble is, Feilong has something like half a dozen inner voices, and only one of the other ones agrees with the reasonable one; the voice that doesn’t want to hurt Asami.  _ You’ve always wanted to know who’s better, _ urges his pride.  _ Oh gods, it will be the best sex of your life! You’ve wanted to see him unchained for SO LONG. Unchain him, _ purrs his sexuality. And,  _ I wonder where they got the blue paint they used on that wall over there ,it’s such a lovely dark rich blue, like lapis MAIM HIM. Oh look there’s a button loose on your tunic DO IT NOW, _ comes from the perverse part of Feilong’s brain that doesn’t know when to shut up or say stop and is also probably just a little bit batshit crazy. This is a bad idea. It’s a monumentally bad idea. And he wants it so bad his blood is burning and his nerve endings are sparking with adrenaline. Asami sees it, the moment Feilong decides to dance, and a fierce, vicious grin splits his face, his teeth showing bared and gleaming white.

 

“Disarm,” he orders in a low, bass growl. Feilong blinks, because he hadn’t even thought about it, and that’s as much a testament to how seriously fucked up he is as anything else. Feeling a little shaken, he turns so Asami won’t see it and walks briskly to a small shelving unit against the wall behind him, where he carefully begins removing blades. Testing each other’s strength is one thing, but walking into a fight with this man armed? Fortunately, the familiar act of drawing out each knife and laying it down carefully, one beside the other, steadies his hands so they’re not shaking anymore when he turns back to face Asami again. He doesn’t think he’d have ever used one of them, but that’s completely beside the point. Asami is absolutely right, he realizes. If Feilong can’t work out his shit pretty fucking soon, he’s going to reach a point where he can’t a lot sooner than he likes. 

 

Asami is slowly unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a gradually widening expanse of golden, sculpted muscle. While that’s always going to be a diverting sight, he’s not actually showing off or trying to be provocative. There’s just no good reason for ruining excellent clothing if you can avoid it. Feilong slips the knotted silk toggles through the tiny loops sewn by hand on his embroidered tunic, then removes it carefully and lays it down over the top of his knives. They both take off their shoes and socks too. The shoes, because the hardened leather soles and heels are capable of doing a lot more damage with a kick than either of them intends, and the socks because otherwise they’re just going to end up clutching each other and sliding all over the smoothly sealed concrete floor like a couple of extras in a bad Jerry Lewis film. Feilong reaches in his pocket for one of the two or three hair elastics he always carries with him in case he’s in a situation where his hair would be either in the way or in jeopardy, and pulls it back into a quick ponytail. He straightens, lets out his breath in a long sigh, and faces Asami.

 

“I’m not convinced this is going to work,” he says with a sigh, “but…” Placing both palms together in the middle of his chest, he bows at the waist. Asami mirrors the gesture, each granting the other the respect he’s due, and Feilong has to admit he’s more than a little flattered that Asami’s bend at the waist is just as deep as his own had been.

 

“Oh, it’ll work,” he says with a grin, “if for no other reason than I’ll just keep coming at you until you lose your temper.” Feilong frowns.

 

“You really think it’s going to be that easy to lay a hand on me?” he snaps, then realizes immediately that Asami has already started. “Oh fuck you. Shut up and fight, you bastard.”

 

Asami grins even wider, that smile along with the look in his eye making him look a little unhinged, and probably he is. They both set aside a little bit of their darker bits for love of the same person on a daily basis, but maybe it’s not a good idea to let that go on too long. Maybe Asami needs this, in his way, as much as Feilong does. He reaches out with one arm slowly finger pointing at Feilong (this is astonishingly rude, actually, polite Asian men do not  _ point _ at other men like that), then turns his wrist, twists his finger and beckons twice.  _ Come and get me. _

 

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” sneers Feilong, and edges closer, but he’s been doing this for too long and learned his lessons too well to be baited so easily and so soon. They move around each other for a little while, both of their guards up, studying one another’s movements, looking for weakness, but finding none. 

 

Asami moves first, realizing that he’s going to have to. Feilong’s not going to do it, because there’s still a part of him that thinks this is a bad idea, and because after having submitted to Asami for so long, straight-up attacking him isn’t easy for Fei anymore. He steps close, throws a strike someone slower than Feilong should damn well better be able to block, then spins away. Feilong does block it, slapping his hand away easily, and turns to follow his movement. Asami does it again, and yet again, and Feilong does have to admit it’s getting a little bit irritating. The fourth time, Asami is faster. Much faster. He whirls on the ball of his foot, aiming at the side of Feilong’s neck with his elbow, then ducks at the last second as Feilong brings his arm up to block it, and drives his other fist into the smaller man’s stomach. And pulls the punch.

 

Feilong dances back, glaring at him.

 

“What the fuck was that?” he asks angrily. Asami just smirks and lifts an eyebrow. He’s not even taking this seriously. The red in Feilong’s brain, the choking fog of it that has been tapping, tapping, tapping softly at the backs of his eyeballs for months, ever since men who had been supposed to call him their leader had dared to lay hands on him and his and he’d had to settle for their deaths alone, which had threatened to rise up and strangle him when he’d walked through the silent, empty halls of his old home and remembered things he hasn’t thought of in a long time, roils up inside him. It’s thicker and heavier than his reason, stronger and hotter than his patience. The next time Asami comes close, Feilong lets him think he’s going to do the same thing again; try to block. And he does block Asami’s punch, grabbing his wrist and twisting, but this time he throws a punch of his own, straight at his lover’s smirking face. Asami turns his head to the side just in time to avoid a bloody nose, and Feilong’s hand skims off the side of his face. The contact sings up his arm like a live thing. Asami laughs, low and dark and mean.

 

Liu Feilong lets go of the reins holding himself back with both hands and goes a little bit berserk. He wades into Asami like a one man whirlwind, his hands moving almost too fast to see. He’s faster than Asami by just a bit, so the taller man only manages to block about two out of three of his strikes. For a little while, he just lets Feilong come, concentrating hard on defending, a small frown of focus between his eyebrows. 

 

“STOP HOLDING BACK, YOU BASTARD!” screams Feilong, whirling on one foot to aim a kick at Asami’s head. When Asami leans back to avoid it, Feilong drops hard onto one hand and twists with his hips, bringing the other foot in to  slam into the long muscle of his opponent’s thigh. Asami grunts softly in pain, and his tiger eyes flash fire. 

 

“About fucking time,” he mutters under his breath, as if somehow this was what he’d been waiting for. Feilong is too consumed with rage to care. Losing his temper doesn’t make him sloppy or careless, it makes him  _ better _ . He throws strike after strike, one on top of the other, too fast for Asami to stop them all, and his rage revels in the way all that fantastic muscle feels when his fist or his heel or hand slams into it. 

 

Then, rather abruptly, Asami stops just defending and attacks him back. He’s not quite as fast, but he’s stronger and his reach is longer, with both his hands and his feet. Judo works for him well in this case, using Feilong’s own momentum against him, reaching out to stop him before he can reach Asami and sending him flying. He’s ready when Feilong recovers and comes at him again, sacrificing his guard, letting Feilong get close enough to really hit him, even though his ribs are going to be unhappy with him for a few days after this. He takes the hit, he’s ready for it, his feet planted securely, so that it does not drive him back, and backhands Feilong across the side of his face. Feilong screams again, wordlessly this time, full of rage and bloodlust. He’s back in an instant, hands and feet flying.

 

This is why Asami has always managed to best him in their other conflicts. Feilong is a creature of passions, and throws too much into it without thinking about the long game. Asami doesn’t lose his temper, he’s having too much fun, and knows that if he wanted to, he could beat Feilong by just staying on the defensive long enough to tire the other man out. It answers the question to his own satisfaction well enough. Asami has learned his own lessons too well, that patience, keeping his eyes on his goal rather than on petty irritations, keeping his head and making logical choices will always serve him well. Possibly with the exception of when it comes to his heart, which he’d once decided would always remain as detached and rational as his head. He’d been wrong about that, but contrary to his father’s teachings, it hasn’t made him weak. That’s why he’s able to make a conscious choice  _ not _ to take the sure win in this fight. Doing so might not help Feilong the way he needs, and it also wouldn’t really answer the question. Just because he’s more patient than Feilong....would simply wearing him down be the same thing? No, he decides, and makes a conscious choice to let a little of his own control slip, to let out a little of the blood lust he knows he’ll need if he’s actually going to fight Feilong toe to toe, because  _ fuck _ but FeiFei can throw a punch. And a kick too. He shakes his head a little to clear the ringing in it. Something must have changed in the expression on his face, because Feilong has paused in coming at him like an enraged demon and dances back for a moment. They stare at each other across the concrete floor of the big dungeon, both breathing hard. Feilong reaches up to wipe a smear of blood off his mouth with the back of his hand, Asami’s eyes tracking his every move. A tiny corner of the taller man’s mouth flicks up. 

 

Feilong hears a dim voice through the red haze, sounding both a little awed and a little nervous.  _ You’ve never seen a real predator before tonight. That’s one right there. _ He can’t bring himself to care too much, because the predator in him shrieks defiance at it in his brain, an enraged dragon that cares not if it’s smaller or a little weaker, because it’s faster and it’s angry and it’s  _ hungry _ . That’s there’s also a little bit of mating hunger tangled up in all of it is beside the point. For now, anyway. Asami laughs again, but it’s not mocking this time. It’s just as low and mean, but behind it there is an exultant joy at slipping off the polished veneer he wears every day. Feilong sees Asami’s hips shift and bounces a little, up on the balls of his feet. 

 

They charge each other at the same time, as if by some unspoken signal, and the clash is fucking  _ legendary _ . Asami body-slams Feilong into the block wall, knocking all of the air out of his lungs, but Feilong writhes and twists and kicks him in the side of his knee and flips over Asami’s back anyway….who needs oxygen...whirling to plant his foot in the back of Asami’s thigh as he leaps back to catch his breath for a second. There’s not really another way to put it. They savage each other. For a while, there is nothing but the thick, meaty sound of fist plowing into flesh and the raw, ragged hasp of their breaths in their lungs. One of Asami’s eyes is swelling already. Both of their mouths are bleeding, and their skin is red and raw, mottled with the bruising that will come later. Pain sears through Feilong’s hand when Asami blocks an open hand strike with his forearm, but he’s broken most of the bones in both of his hands before, and shuts it out. Asami is limping a little, favoring his left knee where Feilong kicked it, but it doesn’t slow him down. 

 

Then the taller man gets his hand in Feilong’s hair and yanks him close. His other hand closes around the slender column of Feilong’s throat and squeezes, and because Asami is simply physically stronger, Feilong can’t pull away. He can’t break the hold, and he can’t breathe, and it cuts through the red haze a little and some of himself slides back into his eyes. Still, he’s not giving up yet. Concentrating hard, as his vision starts to flash and go grey around the edges, he sweeps Asami’s left foot and shoves as hard as he can. They go down hard, Feilong on top, but Asami rolls them. His fingers around Feilong’s throat ease back a little, enough for some air to seep in. His hips, nestled against Feilong’s roll hard, his erection grinding against the smaller man’s body, finding him just as hard. 

 

“Are you as turned on as I am right now?” Asami’s deep, baritone voice is a low, hungry growl in his chest. 

 

“More,” gasps Feilong, and lunges up to catch that smirking mouth with his own. The kiss is savage, all teeth and tongues and harsh breath, until Feilong catches Asami’s bottom lip between his teeth and bites hard enough to split the skin. Asami snarls and forces Feilong’s head down, holding him pinned by his hair. He leans down and skims his lips up the side of Feilong’s throat.

 

“I can’t beat you,” he breathes into the smaller man’s ear. “Not this way.”

 

“I can’t beat you either,” pants Feilong, arching against his lover when Asami presses his teeth to the side of his throat and bites hard. Fei moans helplessly at the shard of powerful lust that rips through him as Asami’s teeth bruise deep. There’s moisture on his face, and Feilong realizes suddenly that he’s crying, that he’s been crying for the last couple of minutes and hadn’t even realized it. A sob wracks his slim, deadly body. Asami’s teeth withdraw, replaced again by his lips, gentle on Feilong’s shuddering skin. 

 

“Is it gone?” he asks softly, mouth moving against Feilong’s neck. He doesn’t have to explain what he’s asking, Feilong knows what he means, and knows Asami understand. He nods. The rage is gone, drained away completely by their struggle. He nods once, silently. “Good,” growls Asami into his ear. “Now get up. We’re not done.”

 

He shoves himself to his feet, ignoring the myriad aches and pains in his body, and stands over Feilong, staring down at him, waiting. He doesn’t offer his hand. It’s not callousness, or cruelty. He’s showing Fei that Asami knows he doesn’t  _ need _ his help. In a way, it’s also a test, to find out where Feilong’s head is right now. Feilong stands up slowly, ignoring his own pain too, and stands in front of Asami, his eyes downcast. He sucks in a deep, shuddery breath and then slowly raises his eyes to meet his lover’s gleaming golden stare. His eyes are black pits of bottomless sadness.

 

“Asami...I…”

 

“ _ No _ ,” snaps Asami, and shuts him up with a kiss. One hand wraps around Feilong’s hip and yanks him close, where he can feel quite clearly that Asami is still enormously aroused, while the other one slides through the sweat-damp hair at his temple, to the elastic, where his deft fingers start to work it loose. “No,” he says more softly, breaking the kiss and looking down into Feilong’s eyes. “Fei...beautiful one...we’ve beaten this shit out of each other, and nothing bad happened. You got angry, and nothing bad happened. It changes nothing for me, and it damn well better change nothing for you except for the way you’ve been thinking the past few weeks, because I don’t care how tired I am or how badly I hurt, I’m beating sense into you before I fuck you if it takes all night. And I really hope it doesn’t, because I’d  _ love _ to be fucking you right  _ now _ .”

 

Feilong glances up into Asami’s eyes, and his lips part in surprise.  _ He’s right, _ he thinks, a little dazed.  _ You did get angry...you lost your temper and tried to actually hurt him and...It’s fine. He’s fine, he’s not lying.  _

 

“This is the biggest test, Fei. This is the point I want you to understand the most about yourself, and I really hope I’m not wrong. You can be a badass  _ and _ submit to me, and they’re both  _ okay. _ Can you do it?” Asami takes a long step back, letting Feilong go, and holds out his hand. Feilong thinks about it, really thinks. Can he? And finds that Asami is right, and nothing has been damaged, and he wants nothing more than to put himself into those strong hands and let Asami tear away all the self-doubt and recriminations that are left in the wake of his anger, and Asami knows perfectly well it’s what he needs now. 

 

He takes Asami’s hand. He’s rewarded with a brilliant, wicked, stomach-tightening, terrifying,  _ perfect _ grin in return. Asami tugs Feilong off balance, which isn’t really all that hard to do with every muscle in his body practically quivering with exertion, and Feilong’s mind flashes back to the way Asami had done the very same thing to him the very first time they’d kissed, as his lover’s sinful mouth covers his own. He’s not sure he’s ever had a kiss hurt more or taste better. Both of their mouths are still a little bloody, his from Asami’s wicked backhand and Asami’s from one of Feilong’s snap kicks that he hadn’t quite gotten out of the way of. The bright copper taste of blood on his tongue and the burning sting of it are perfect, because Asami doesn’t kiss him any differently than he ever has. A muffled sound escapes his lips, and Asami swallows it with a possessive, hungry snarl. The taller man glances upwards at something, then moves them a few steps to the right. He breaks the kiss and orders Feilong to stay right where he is, turning to stride over to one of the walls. A loud rattling sound fills the quiet basement as Asami uses a pulley mounted on the wall to lower a padded bar from the ceiling, suspended from two sturdy chains on its ends, like a trapeze. He stops it about two feet above Feilong’s head, then turns to take something down from a hook on the wall; a drawstring pouch of some sort. He opens the pouch and shakes something out into his hand, stuffing the pouch into his pocket. Giving his wrist a shake, he lets the thing unfurl. Feilong bites his lip and whines softly through his nose as his cock twitches in his pants. Asami looks up at him and smiles again. From across the room, his eyes look black. The tightly-braided kangaroo hide whip hisses softly on the concrete floor, it’s end swirling and eddying around Asami’s feet as he stalks back towards Feilong. Feilong can’t decide whether he’d rather watch the whip or the heat blazing down on him out of Asami’s eyes and sort of settles for mentally eye-fucking both of them, because now that they’re doing this, now that he believes he can, he wants it so bad he’s literally salivating.

 

Asami stops in front of him and wraps the whip around his neck The leather is cool against his heated skin, but feels alive, its intricate 12-plait braid with its shot loaded core lending it weight, like a snake around his neck. Powerful hands encircle his wrists and yank them above his head, slapping his hands against the padded bar. His fingers curl around it and grip tightly, lips parted on a soft gasp.

 

“Do you need to be restrained, or…?” The way Asami asks it sounds like a dare, and it’s a risky one, because after what they’ve just done, what they’ve shared, even though Feilong needs this like water in the desert, like oxygen, to ask him to simply stand still for it and take it will be a challenge, because the absolute shit Feilong’s been bottling up and that’s been building ever since Li Chen and his sons had come to Tokyo and taken Yoh is pretty fucking deep.

 

“No,” says Feilong, meeting Asami’s eyes. Asami doesn’t ask if he’s sure. He drags the whip slowly off of Feilong’s neck and strolls slowly around behind him. His hands on the waistband of Feilong’s pants, thumbing open the button, send a shudder through his body. 

 

“I trust our little dance has you sufficiently warmed up that I won’t need to bore you with playing patty cake?” he purrs into Feilong’s ear, and yanks his pants down. Feilong kicks them off his feet and shoots Asami a look over his shoulder.

 

“I’m starting to get bored already,” gasps Feilong, who may possibly have never told a bigger lie in his life, but if Asami doesn’t absolutely shred him, part of him isn’t making it out of here alive. His lover chuckles, and his fingers trail slowly up Fei’s spine, trailing chills in their wake, to thread sweetly through his hair, but Feilong’s been on this ride before and his body is already tensed in anticipation when those fingers coil into an iron fist and drag his head back. Panting, he looks at Asami from under his eyelashes.

 

“Tell me,” says Asami conversationally, “are you still feeling bitchy, or do you actually have the balls to stand there and be afraid I don’t know what you need and might not give it to you?” Feilong sighs and relaxes back against Asami.  _ Of course not. _ Asami turns his head and smiles against Feilong’s throat. “Hold on tight,” he hisses. And he doesn’t wait for Feilong to say anything, or to respond, or acknowledge what he’s said in any way, he just shoves the smaller man’s head forward gently and takes a couple of steps back. Feilong hears Asami let out a long, slow breath and can see him in his mind’s eye, shaking out his shoulders as he bows his head for a moment, centering himself, and focusing on his task. He’s struck, not for the first time tonight, by how Asami continues to simply show faith in him in some small way, and can’t decide whether it’s gratifying or terrifying. 

 

He doesn’t have time to decide though, because he hears the hiss of leather on the concrete for a moment, then the sharp, loud report of the whip cracking in the air. He flinches and shudders at the sound, but it isn’t fear. Asami isn’t messing with him, he’s just checking the balance and handling of his chosen implement, and warming up the leather before he really starts to use it. Feilong knows what a toy like this one feels like….to an extent. Asami and Aki had given he and Yoh a four foot signal whip for Christmas last year, as well as lessons in its use, but both of them are essentially still amateurs. He doesn’t know why Asami has never used his own on Feilong before now, because it’s  _ exactly  _ his cup of tea, and he’s just sure Asami is a master in its handling. It will be perfect for right now, too; capable of the level of intensity that he needs, but a fine instrument, it won’t add to the bone-deep bruises Asami has already rendered in his flesh. It will sear his skin and tear away the layers of filth in his head like a fine blade in the hands of a surgeon, if Asami is as good with it as Feilong hopes he is.

 

And oh….oh, he’s  _ better _ . Asami doesn’t give him any warning. A fine line of pure fire seems to appear across his shoulders, followed moments later by another across his ass. Feilong sucks his breath in hard through his nose, his body arching back in a taut bow against the searing, exquisite pain of it. Asami’s soft chuckle shivers over his skin.

 

“Still bored?” he asks, amusement and lust twisted up in his voice.

 

“Hah,” says Feilong.

 

“Ohh, I’ve wanted to dance this dance with you for so long, Bishounen. I’ve been waiting. Waiting until you really needed this, so I could give you everything I can do. I’m going to wreck you, FeiFei, break you,  _ bleed _ you.”

 

“Yessss,” sighs Feilong.

 

Asami teases him for a little while after that. The whip dances over his body, tiny nips and whispers, as Asami walks in slow circles. No part of him is safe from its kiss. The lash curls lovingly around his bicep, licks at a nipple, paints a tiny hickey on the inside of his thigh, breathes on his balls and tickles at his aching cock. Oh, the terror is gorgeous. He doesn’t know whether the next stroke, or the next, will bring him pain or pleasure. Adrenaline sings in his blood as he watches Asami play him out of hooded eyes. He’s so hard it’s almost agony, but the anticipation of what’s to come subsumes his desire for something so simple as mere orgasm.

 

Asami’s large hand in the center of his back makes his skin shiver, pebbling at his touch. He kicks Feilong’s feet apart, wider, then wider, until the tendons inside his thighs sting with tension, and pushes him gently forward a little. He’ll have to use mostly the strength in his own arms to hold himself up, and in this position, but Asami doesn’t ask him if he can, doesn’t ask if his arms are too tired after their fight, he just puts Feilong where he wants him to be, and  _ believes _ he’ll stay there, knows that he  _ can _ . 

 

“I want  _ all _ of you open for me to hurt,” growls Asami. Feilong whimpers softly in desire and fear as he feels the cool air of the basement ghost over his asshole in this position. He is completely exposed. 

 

“Please,” he breathes on a sigh. 

 

“Of course,” replies Asami warmly, and steps back again. They both stand frozen for a moment, neither breathing, as when one pauses for those few seconds in the open door of an airplane about to jump, just before taking that plunge. Feilong does sense Asami’s movement this time, probably because Asami means for him to; hears the whip rustle on the floor as it’s drawn back, Asami’s foot sliding back as he plants it firmly, the breath he draws in. Fei lowers his head forward and lets his eyes fall closed, his fingers tightening on the bar. The dozens of tiny, careful, teasing marks on his body tingle in anticipation, and he can feel his heart beating madly in the two first strokes on his shoulders and buttocks. 

 

They are  _ nothing _ compared to what Asami carves into his skin next. Whether the stroke is a searing line or a single needle prick of stabbing, biting heat, each snatches hold of and tears away a gossamer layer of Feilong’s guilt. Guilt for his past; for Akihito and Asami and the scars he’d given them both. Guilt for his bitterness, for refusing to believe the truth. Guilt for Tao, for running off to Japan so often and leaving his son alone under the influence of such evil. Guilt for letting Yoh be taken. Guilt for his anger. Guilt for inaction, for being too afraid to seek power of his own for fear of what he’d done with it when he’d had it before. Guilt for wanting it anyway. Asami’s whip slashes and bites and snatches away Feilong’s guilt bit by bit, mapping its progress on his skin in lines and splashes of heat. 

 

He bites his lips against the sounds that want to spill from his lips for as long as he can, thinking in some way that the longer he is able to bear it, the more pure his absolution will be in the end, but Asami sees right through him. A vicious stroke curls around the inside of Feilong’s thigh and he can’t hold back a cry of shocked pain.

 

“Do you think it makes a bit of difference to me how much you scream? I’m not stopping until we’re  _ finished _ , Feilong. Go on. Scream for me. I’ll just make it hurt more.”

 

So Feilong screams. He screams out his pain, his sorrow, his guilt in time to the dance of Asami’s whip, screams his voice ragged, screams until tears pour down his face, and Asami doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, and it’s horrible and glorious and agonizing and perfect. The pain is incandescent, and exactly what he needs. He recognizes dimly that his legs are shaking, but his fingers are sealed to the bar so tight he’s not sure he could let go if he wanted to. When the tip of the lash licks between his asscheeks, he shrieks at the top of his lungs, and Asami’s laugh is heaven and hell in his ears. Eaten away, the shell he’s built around his guilt cracks at last, crazed as safety glass, and crumbles under Asami’s unrelenting assault. Feilong cries, wrenching sobs that wash him clean in a torrent of pain and tears. 

 

Almost instantly, Asami is behind him, one powerful arm supporting him while his free hand gently strokes and touches Feilong’s skin. His lips skim the back of Fei’s neck, his tongue laps up tiny spots of bright crimson. He doesn’t say a word, just holds what he’s wrought in his unflinching hands and slowly puts Feilong back together.  

 

Fei doesn’t recall Asami coaxing his fingers free of their death grip on the bar that had been the only thing holding him upright, and honestly has no memory of being moved, but comes back to his senses lying on his stomach on some sort of firmly padded surface. Asami’s hands and mouth are still on him, still touching him, grounding him. He moans softly and arches into the touch. Asami’s voice rumbles near his ear, a low growl deep in his chest that Feilong can feel in his bones. 

 

“With me?” asks Asami quietly. Feilong lifts his head and looks at the other man. Asami’s eyes are blown almost completely black with desire, but his voice remains composed, his hands easy on Feilong’s raw flesh.

 

“Mm. Not nearly enough.” Feilong’s reply is all the answer Asami needs, and in moments, two fingers shove roughly inside him, slick and cool. Taking him completely at his word, trusting him. Feilong lets out a strangled cry, but lifts his hips for more. Asami had been  _ very _ thorough. 

 

“Hurts?”

 

“Yes,” pants Feilong. “Harder. No. Gods, just fuck me.” Asami doesn’t ask if he’s sure. And that’s fine. He’s heard the message, loud and clear, that Asami’s been telling him over and over tonight. That he trusts Feilong, has faith in him, does not need to question him. Asami laughs softly, a little breathlessly, and rolls on top of him, pinning him down. The wide, blunt head of his cock presses for a moment against Feilong’s entrance.

 

“You might be sorry you asked. I mean to ride you hard,” breathes Asami into his ear, but doesn’t give him a chance to change his mind. Men like them don’t. His hips shift a little and he  _ shoves. _ Feilong’s cry is agonized as he’s forced open much too fast, but this has been a kind of pain he likes from the very beginning, and he braces his elbows and bucks against Asami, taking him deeper.

 

“Fuck, fuck,” he chants, panting at the burn. How can it be so damn  _ startling _ every single time that the man is just so fucking big? “Ngh.”

 

“You’re so  _ tight _ , Feilong, so hot where I’m fucking you.”

 

“Hurts. Oh gods, that hurts. There….oh, right there,” Feilong gasps, pleasure smoothing the sharper edges of the pain into the kind of ache that pushes him over the edge the fastest.

 

“Oho? There?” chuckles Asami, angling his hips and nailing Feilong’s sweet spot again, just harder. 

 

“Yes, hah...yess. Ohh, you magnificent bastard,” moans Fei, bracing his hands against the padded platform they’re on so he can feel every deep, driving thrust in his bones. “I am never going to be able to repay you for t...ahh...tonight.” 

 

“Mm,” says Asami, brushing his lips over Feilong’s shoulder and nipping the back of his neck. “You can thank me by coming for me. Soon. Fuck, Feilong, I haven’t been this hard since. Nnh. I don’t even know. I’ll have you know. If you. Ever.  _ Ever _ ,” he punctuates his words with hard, driving jabs of his hips that punch the air out of Feilong’s lungs along with helpless small cries of pleasure, “Raise you hand. To me. In anger. Hn. I’ll end you. But if. Fuck...are you close?”

 

“Mmh,” pants Feilong, nodding once when words fail him, his eyes rolling back in his head as pleasure claws into his belly and draws his balls up tight, twisting around his spine and building a burn in his blood.

 

“Good,” says Asami harshly. “If you ever want to try me again. Hah. I wouldn’t say no. Fuck. Feilong…..Come  _ now _ !” His teeth sink into Feilong’s neck where it meets his shoulder, breath snarling through them, and that bite is the last bit it takes, pushing Feilong over the edge into bliss, Asami’s seed warm inside him. His vision tunnels to white, and everything fades out on a shattering wave of pleasure. 

 

His eyelids flutter open slowly, to see Asami’s face looking down at him. His head is laying on the older man’s lap. Asami grins, but Fei can see the worry in his eyes.

 

“I’m all right. I’m fine,” he says softly, reaching up to touch Asami’s heartbreakingly handsome face. The worry fades some.

 

“I’ve fucked Aki unconscious before, but never you.”

 

“Well, you’ve never nearly beaten me half to death beforehand either. Gods, Asami, when did you study  _ Silat _ ?”

 

“Surely you don’t think I’m going to give away my secrets to you now? I didn’t know you’d done as much work in Shorinji Kenpo as you have. My knee might actually need a doctor.”

 

“Hm. Well, I’ve fractured another bone in my hand, but it will heal. I think we’d both probably be hurt worse if you hadn’t studies Aikido for as long as you did.”

 

“What do you think, FeiFei? Are we too broken to limp our way out of here?”

 

“If we are, we’ll carry each other,” says Feilong, smiling. There’s nothing in his eyes behind it but happiness. They stagger slowly to their feet and manage to partially re-dress themselves while hunting for the key. If they lean on each other a little in the elevator, neither of them remarks on it. In the car, driving home in the darkness, Feilong’s hand reaches over and closes firmly around Asami’s forearm. Neither of them flinch, even when it hurts.  “Thank you,” whispers Fei. “And… I’ll take you up on that offer. In a year or two when my bruises don’t have bruises anymore.” Asami laughs, but the laughter sounds a little bit relieved.

 

The myriad aches and pains of their bodies are truly starting to make themselves known by the time they reach the towering condo, and it is with great care that they make it onto the elevator and ride to the top floor. When Asami opens the door, he calls out quietly to Akihito, whose scooter they’d seen in the parking garage. He’s sitting in the living room, doing something on his phone. He doesn’t look up as they come in.

 

“Do you guys think that people with LED headlights know that everyone hates them? Like...really hates them in an oddly personal way? Do you think they know?” he wonders out loud, tapping out something on his phone’s screen and bopping his shaggy blonde head to some internal music only he can hear. Feilong and Asami look at each other. Asami’s mouth quirks up at the corner. Feilong raises his eyebrows. Asami chuckles. Feilong snorts. They both start to laugh.

 

Akihito takes one look at both of them and screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided not to go into a lot of detailed description of martial arts moves during the actual fight because I didn't want it to sound all technical and crap. Neither one of them would have been using a single technique, but rather several. Judo and jujutsu and styles like them tend to be about holds, and using your opponent's momentum and body weight against them. Aikido is also a more defensive martial art, and a part of it is about learning how to minimize damage to your opponent while also stopping them. It's really only the fact that both of them have studied multiple styles that would allow them to go at each other full force and NOT break each other into truly damaged pieces. 
> 
> I could not decide in my heart which one of them I wanted to win. I knew Asami would always be able to best Feilong, purely because he has the patience the other does not, and will always be able to simply wear Feilong down, and out-think him, because Feilong tends to be much more passionate and also loses his temper, which Asami almost never does. But I didn't think that approach would help Fei, it would only make him resentful and angry, so Asami chose to actually let himself simply fight, and not out-think and outmaneuver Feilong. In the end, I decided the way they'd both be best able to sleep at night was if neither of them could actually beat the other one. I also think this is reasonably accurate, IF they were ever to fight that way. 
> 
> Also in real life, don't spar and then get into a heavy BDSM scene. It's probably not a terribly safe thing to do, unless you happen to actually be a real life badass like these guy. If you're injured, or your partner is, kinky stuff and sexy times aren't actually more important than seeing to said injuries. Yaoi men are not only really stretchy, they're also amazingly tough. Real people, not quite as much. 
> 
> The words Akihito says when Asami and Feilong come home looking like the depths of hell were suggested to me by one of my followers on Tumblr, who chose to remain anonymous. They said someone shared the lines with them, so if I'm stealing them from somewhere, it's totally unintentional. It just sounded like such a perfectly Aki thing to say. And I agree with him. LCD and hallogen headlights fill me with irrational anger when I'm blinded by them on the road at night. It's definitely personal!
> 
> I didn't think about this when I initially posted this chapter, but I want to add a little note about whips. The very best single-tailed whips in the world come from Australia. They are made out of kangaroo hide. I don't know why kangaroo hide makes the best whips. I assume it has something to do with the fact that it is a relatively thin leather, unlike cow or pig skin, but is just as tough as those. A whip made out of thick leather is almost always bulky and somewhat unwieldy. Roo hide whips generally come in 6, 8 and 12-plait styles. There are also 14 plait whips, but they're rarer. The more strands of leather there are in the plait, the more responsive the whip will be. Most people think of single tailed whips as bullwhips. Most of the time, this is wrong. A true bullwhip has a handle. Most of the single tails kinky people use are actually signal whips, of the type used in dogsled racing to signal the team which direction to go. They don't have a separate handle, but are one single piece from butt to tip. There is always lead shot in the butt of a good whip, to help with balance and control. Lightweight whips don't want to fly true, and are hard to control. If you want to see examples of what I'm talking about, do a web search for David Murphy whips. His are the best, and each one is a work of art.


End file.
